


Pillow talk

by masongirl



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Affection, Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, Canon Era, Difficult Decisions, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pillow Talk, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-War, Romantic Angst, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29430858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masongirl/pseuds/masongirl
Summary: Ron cannot bury their relationship without discussing it with Carwood, and Carwood will tell him so, once he finds the right words.(Written for the prompt: challenging pillow talk)
Relationships: Carwood Lipton/Ronald Speirs
Comments: 13
Kudos: 44
Collections: Band of Brothers Love Fest 2021





	Pillow talk

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [BandofBrothersLoveFest_2021](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/BandofBrothersLoveFest_2021) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  _Speirs and Lipton sleep together for the first time, but what then? Pillowtalk presents a challenge for them both. Perhaps they don't know what to say, perhaps they fear what the other is thinking and whether or not they feel the same, or if they're going to stay the night._  
>    
> This was such a great prompt and I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you will enjoy this one-shot. :)

The train whistles as it rolls into the station and the people waiting on the platform come into view. Mothers, siblings, friends, sweethearts - they all gather around the slowing metal carriages with bright smiles of anticipation. Carwood sighs, watching it through the window. His sweetheart isn't here to welcome him, he knows that very well, but his traitorous eyes still search for him in the crowd. Those unfamiliar faces are nothing but blank masks that slip out of his focus as his attention jumps from one to the next. No one's here for him.

He helps an old man descend the steps to the platform, then earns himself an admiring smile from a pretty girl when he hauls her oversized luggage off the train. He could invite her for a drink, the tiny, scared voice in his mind suggests because that's what's expected of him, but he spent enough time in the army to disregard that pressure. Who does he want to fool? There's no reason to get off track now. It's late, and he needs to settle something important tonight.

In the cab on the way to Ron's place, he takes the letter out of his pocket. It's too dark to make out every word, but he knows all the important ones by heart anyway. The crinkling paper is merely an anchor.

"Big night, huh?" The driver asks, slanting a look at him through the rearview mirror. He must think it's about a girl.

"Yes." Carwood breathes out heavily. He runs his fingertips over a paragraph of Ron's writing again.

_'I cannot console myself with the illusion that we can make do like this. Letters are poor substitutes, and I miss you. I had to make a decision, Carwood. I am sure that you will understand, if not now, then with time. I believe that the best way forward is to stop our correspondence. You deserve a normal life lived in peace, not one spent with a man, always on the line. You should not waste your care on me.'_

Trust Ron to see it all in black and white and then to decide for Carwood too. But they're not on the front anymore, and he's not Carwood's commanding officer. Carwood doesn't have to obey. And to hell with it all, he's not going to give up on them just because Ron has some misguided ideas about protecting him. He's tougher than that.

The car stops in a quiet street lined with trees. Golden light streams out of the brownstone townhouses as families prepare dinner, old couples sit in their armchairs to listen to the radio, or a lone soldier stretches out on a sofa with a book. That's how Carwood imagines Ron. Relaxed, peaceful, comfortable in his solitude. The idea that he isn't alone but enjoying life with someone else, a new lover… Carwood can't bear that. He chooses to think that Ron is on his own and hopes for the best.

"Good luck, son." The driver calls out before he speeds away, leaving him on Ron's doorstep with two heavy suitcases and a heart that wants to leap out of his chest.

Half a year is a long time. They haven't seen each other since Carwood left for the troopship that took him home, and Ron's last letter came in December, more than eight weeks ago. What if he turns Carwood away? What if Carwood misunderstood him? Ron talked about his _life,_ his entire life. It couldn't have meant anything but a desire for commitment, right?

"Come on." He mutters to himself, attempts to comb his sparse fringe with a shaking hand, then presses the bell.

He hears it ring inside, but for the longest time, nothing else happens. The nearest streetlight sheds warm orange shadows on the snow that covers the fences like powdered sugar. It’s freezing outside. Carwood starts to wonder if Ron is even home when the lock clicks and the door opens so suddenly that he jumps.

Ron stands there in the doorway with the sleeves of his brown shirt rolled up and the top buttons undone, revealing a hint of chest hair. His forearms are wet.

"Surprise." Carwood smiles widely. He’s sure that his nervousness radiates from his voice, but he pretends it’s not obvious.

Ron stares at him like Carwood has come back from the dead. As if the fact that he’s here can’t be anything but a figment of his own desperate imagination. It’s quite likely that no one has ever caught Ronald Speirs this off guard before.

"I was washing the dishes." He says in a ghostly voice.

“I can see that.” Carwood nods. When he realizes that Ron is still too stunned to reply, he steps forward and rocks on his feet. "Can I come in?"

Ron steps aside, never taking his eyes off Carwood’s face. He wipes his palms on the front of his shirt over and over again until Carwood closes the door.

"I'm sorry I didn't warn you." Carwood says and offers his hand.

Ron takes it automatically, holding on far longer than a simple friendship would allow. The touch seems to break him from the spell at last, because he blinks, and a pure, happy smile spreads across his face. "No, it's good to see you. Do you want to eat something?"

If Carwood had expected Ron to jump him and lavish love and reassurance on his body, he would have been disappointed, but he knew it wouldn’t be that easy, so he takes the lack of intimacy in stride. Ron treats him like an old war buddy. Nothing more, nothing less. Gives him food, asks about the men, carries on with idle, shallow small talk until Carwood yawns from exhaustion. Only the gleam in his eyes and his stilted movements give away what lies beneath the impassive surface. His emotions flow like an underground river. Carwood has to dig through the layers above to reach it. The tension burns between them, but he doesn't know how to bring up the letter and his own decision, the reason why he’s here.

Ron shows him the guest room, then lets him take a shower, commenting on the long train ride from Huntington, and Carwood just goes along with it. It's fine. They will talk tomorrow, he promises himself. But when he comes out of the bathroom in his striped pyjamas, Ron is right there in the hallway, pacing a circle into the floor. He stops when Carwood reaches him.

“Carwood.” He exhales, and a second later they’re kissing.

One of Ron’s hands cups Carwood’s cheek and thumbs at his scar, knowing where to find it immediately, even without looking. A hundred other embraces flash in Carwood’s mind, fragments of Haguenau, Germany and Austria. He remembers the day Ron memorized the lines of his face, when he lit a single candle and they lay hidden on the ground between a bed and a cabinet until they couldn’t keep their eyes open anymore. That was the first night they talked about the possibility of an _after._ How did they get from there to the verge of breaking it up? It’s a mystery. Carwood loops his arms around Ron's waist and pulls him deeper into the kiss that stretches on and on and on until all the distance they've put between each other since Austria is eaten away.

"I wish I could keep kissing you all night." Ron mumbles into it.

A breathless chuckle makes it to Carwood's lips before he’s silenced by Ron's mouth again. It takes him a long moment to break away again. "You can. We're alone. We can do anything we want."

"Anything?"

Seeing Carwood’s nod, Ron smiles and presses their foreheads together. "You're right." He strokes Carwood’s arms, his chest, then his broad shoulders like he needs to confirm with his own hands that Carwood is real. His voice is a whisper. “My God, you’re right.”

It's a struggle to reach Ron's room and climb into his bed when they can't let go of each other long enough to cross the threshold, but they get there somehow, bumping into the doorjamb and stumbling in the carpet. Carwood doesn't have the patience to unbutton Ron's shirt all the way. He pulls it over Ron's head when the gap seems big enough and laughs at the dishevelled way Ron emerges from it. Ron grins back, and the rest of their clothes land on the floor in a similarly careless fashion.

When they lie down, Carwood lets Ron settle between his legs and holds him close with his hand on the small of Ron's back. They grind together, Carwood up and Ron down in a sweet, familiar rhythm. Ron mouths at Carwood's neck carefully.

"You can leave a mark." Carwood squirms to give Ron more access, pushing his right hand down between their stomachs. "We're not in Austria, you can -"

Ron's teeth graze his vulnerable skin and make him sigh. He strokes Ron's cock slowly from base to tip, just reminding himself of its shape and the way Ron likes to be touched. They've given each other handjobs before, but privacy in the army was hard to come by and they didn't dare go any further. Tonight, however, they're alone. No one's going to walk in at the wrong moment, and the sound of their bodies moving against each other can't be overheard through thick brick walls. They could… If Ron wants it too, they could…

"Ron." Carwood mumbles, surprised by the rasp in his voice. "Do you have anything we could use?"

Ron raises his head, a question in his eyes. It takes a beat or two, but Carwood waits him out.

"Christ." Ron groans when the realization finally hits. He drops his forehead to Carwood's chest for a moment before he looks up again. "Vaseline?"

Carwood nods, and chuckles when Ron scrambles for the bedside table, spilling the contents of his med kit on the floor in his haste to grab the jar of cream at the bottom. It's an odd thing, really - they have all the time in the world, but they still rush as if a shell burst could break them apart anytime. Carwood thinks of his decision again and smiles. They will get used to taking their time about it, he's sure. It won't feel this fragile a month or two down the line.

"Too fast?" Ron asks when he sinks in, slippery wet.

Despite his involuntary grimace, Carwood shakes his head. It's just a momentary pain that disappears as quickly as it came, and then every sensation narrows down to Ron's delicious body and the wild way it's taking his. He pulls Ron into a kiss and they keep their lips locked while Ron rocks them into white-hot satisfaction. His hips smacking against Carwood's ass is the only sound they make until they come gasping into each other's mouths. Seeing Ron lose his composure makes the pleasure all the sweeter.

It's over within a few minutes, but considering the six-month build-up that led to this moment, Carwood isn't surprised. He wipes his sticky palm on his stomach and turns his head to look at Ron, who's lying flushed and sweaty beside him. Ron looks back, and they break into mirroring smiles. They bathe in the hazy afterglow of sex, and everything is perfect right until Carwood opens his mouth to speak and nothing comes out. What can he say? Is it appropriate to comment on how good Ron made him feel? And they still haven't discussed the letter. That goddamn letter. He tries to form words again, but they get stuck in his throat, and he laughs in embarrassment.

"What?" Ron asks, a smile at the corners of his lips, but a frown between his eyebrows.

"Nothing." Carwood bites his lip.

He craves a hug, but he isn't sure whether Ron wants affection or not, so he doesn't touch him at all. He wishes he could mention how often he fantasized about sleeping with Ron, about seeing him completely naked and being free to touch wherever he wanted. But he doesn't know how to open the conversation. He's stuck, and the longer the expectant silence lingers, the more aware he becomes of the uncomfortably damp sensation he feels in certain places. He's a right mess down there.

"We should, uh..." He clears his throat, unable to keep the eye contact while saying it out loud. "...clean up."

"Right." Ron blinks and sits up before pausing awkwardly. He pulls the rumpled sheets towards himself. "Would you like to take another shower?"

For a second, Carwood thinks that Ron has become shy all of a sudden before he realizes - _oh._ Ron wants to change the bedsheets. Because of all the wetness they left on them. His face burns. "Yes, thank you."

He washes himself thoroughly in the bathroom, trying to scrub away the embarrassment with everything else he rubs off his skin, and it may not work like magic, but he feels better when he goes back to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his hips. He finds Ron sitting against the headboard, dressed in soft-looking flannel pyjamas. His legs are stretched out under a new blanket arranged with army-sharp corners. Their clothes are folded on the stool in front of the closet, and the med kit is back in place, but Carwood notes that Ron left that inconspicuous jar of Vaseline within arm's reach.

It sets his cheeks aflame and leaves a pleasant tingle in his stomach. He's excited, he realizes. Careful not to disturb the neatly arranged sheets, he puts his PJs back on and sits on the edge of the bed. He folds his hands in his lap. It takes him a second to glance up at Ron.

When their eyes meet, Ron tilts his head like he did in that convent in Rachamps during a conversation Carwood remembers so well. As if he's about to reveal a secret. "I really enjoyed it."

Carwood's grin comes and goes like lightning. "Me too."

They get tangled in a veil of silence again. Carwood's gaze wanders around, examining the dark wooden furniture, the cone lampshade, the silver trinkets that look suspiciously familiar from Germany. Anywhere but at Ron's face. He doesn't know what he's waiting for. Some kind of closure, maybe, but it doesn't come, and he can't stand the situation any longer.

He stands up. "Maybe I should go."

 _"No."_ Ron jumps in hastily and grabs his wrist, holding him back. "Stay a few minutes, please."

This time, Carwood's smile lingers. "All right."

He climbs under Ron's duvet and they lie down facing each other, knees pressed together. The words still refuse to come though, and Carwood almost wishes they were back in the army where they never had a chance to explore their intimacy like this. They always had to straighten themselves immediately after.

"What's on your mind?" Ron asks. His hands are tucked under his head.

"That I should say something but I don't know what." Carwood replies, and they laugh together for a moment. When it fades away, they're back to watching each other, at a loss for words. Ron takes a deep breath and scoots a bit closer, until Carwood can feel the brush of his exhales on his skin and it's hard to keep his green eyes in focus.

"You could -" Ron starts, but bites it off.

Carwood draws the tip of his index finger down along Ron's arm to his elbow. "What?"

"You could stay the whole night too. If you want."

Carwood's heart leaps. "Do you want me to?"

There's a pause, then Ron's strong voice. "Yes."

Carwood curls his right hand around Ron's forearm. "All right. I'll stay then."

Something loosens in Ron's shoulders at that. His eyes soften, and he burrows deeper into his pillow, apparently content to go to sleep now. He presses the back of his left hand to Carwood's chest and his breaths deepen.

His eyes are slipping closed when Carwood pulls him back to awareness with a question. "Aren't you going to turn the lights off?"

"Oh." Ron blinks and sits up, then presses the light switch and plunges the room into darkness. He settles back down, not touching Carwood anymore. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yes." Carwood says quietly, then shivers. Now that the warmth of exertion has seeped out of his body, the cool air gets to him. It's tolerable, but he can't stop himself from remembering Bastogne and that memory makes the temperature ten times worse. "But it's cold in here."

Ron makes an apologetic noise.

"Let me -" He pushes at Carwood's shoulder until Carwood turns to lie on his other side, and then he presses himself to Carwood's back under the heavy duvet. "There."

The restless uncertainty in Carwood's chest begins to settle. He leans back into Ron's warmth and hums when Ron's arm curls around his waist. He didn't know until now, but this is what he needed. Affection.

"You smell good." Ron mumbles. The tip of his nose tickles Carwood's neck.

"I smell like your soap."

"It suits you."

That makes Carwood snicker. He takes Ron's hand and plays with his fingers. Slides his own between them, traces the lines of Ron's bones, presses his thumb against the soft pads of Ron's palm.

Ron sighs. "I forgot to ask you something."

"Ask me now, then."

"It doesn't matter anymore."

"It obviously does."

Ron flattens Carwood's hand down on the bed. "Have you ever done anything like that before?"

It's not hard to guess what he means. "A couple times." But they didn't matter as much as this night did, Carwood wants to say. "You?"

"Never."

"Really?" He half-turns in surprise but Ron pushes him back gently. "I didn't notice."

He strokes the tips of Ron's fingers, replaying the night again, but he can't remember any fumbling or clumsiness. It was a good experience. "You did very well."

Ron starts laughing. It rumbles deep in his chest and resonates through Carwood's back.

Carwood covers his face with his hands. "That didn't come out right."

"You sounded like a high school teacher." Ron tells him between his giggles.

It draws a pained groan out of Carwood. "I'm terrible at this."

"I disagree." Ron sobers up. "I find your honesty comforting."

They caress each other for a few minutes, and the silence is light and easy this time. Carwood relaxes into Ron's hold, but no matter how he tries to approach it in his mind, he can't figure out a good way to bring up the letter. In the end, he goes for an easier question.

"Do you think you'll do it again?"

"This?" Ron whispers and moves his thigh against Carwood's backside until Carwood hums yes. "Maybe. It depends."

"On what?"

Ron swipes his thumb back and forth on Carwood's wrist. "Whether it's with you or not."

Carwood's breath hitches. "With me. I hope."

Ron kisses his shoulder, then the top of his spine, then bites him lightly at a spot left exposed by the clothes, and Carwood laughs. He closes his eyes. "Do you remember the last time we shared a bed?"

"Almost a year ago."

"Yes." Carwood breathes in deeply, reminding himself how much of a relief it is that he can. He was always out of breath in Haguenau. "We slept just like this and you threatened to give me a direct order to move back from the line."

Ron's voice turns guarded and defensive. "I wanted to keep you safe."

Carwood braces himself and finally comes out with the core of his emotions, the reason why he decided to fight Ron's decision and that horrible letter. "You should know by now that I would rather be in danger than leave the people I care about."

Ron's hand clenches into a fist. "You can't keep doing that for a lifetime."

"I want to give it a chance." It's a promise neither of them has said out loud before, but it's out there in the open now. A lifetime.

Ron doesn't ask him if he's sure or if he understands what his decision implies. He doesn't tell Carwood any of the terrible things he wrote in that letter, because, Carwood thinks, he didn't really believe those either, he just wanted to push Carwood away while he still had a chance. To protect them both from a doomed future.

Ron just pulls him closer and nuzzles his hair. "Is that why you brought two suitcases?"

"Yes."

Ron's exhale shakes. He presses another kiss to Carwood's skin, this time behind his ear, then whispers into Carwood's neck. A last-ditch attempt to scare him away. "Boston is always cold in the winter."

Carwood smiles and pulls Ron's palm to his heart. "We'll just have to keep each other warm then."

Ron squeezes him tighter for a moment before he pushes his nose against Carwood's nape and falls asleep.

_~End~_


End file.
